


And Your Melody's an Art

by mockanddee



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Communication, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mild Kink, Oral Sex, Relationship Issues, Romance, mentions of assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockanddee/pseuds/mockanddee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2014, covering the canon period of 5x14: "New New York" through shortly after 5x20: "The Untitled Rachel Berry Project."</p><p>Title from the song "Eye of the Needle" by Sia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after 5x14, 5x15, and 5x20

Kurt wakes up one week after Blaine moves out by the sound of his alarm clock. He shifted in his sleep and has to reach across the whole expanse of the bed—cool gray sheets, a pillow that hasn’t been touched all night except by his own head and hand—to turn it off.

The loft is quiet and early-morning dim.

When he gets into the bathroom for his shower, the water warm on his skin, he goes through the motions in near silence, save for the rhythmic  _click-clack_ opening and closing of jars of moisturizers, of his hair care products.

It’s a thumb pressed to his sternum, the awareness of Blaine not being there. He’s fallen back into his old early routine, the one that feels a little ill-fitting now in a way he both loves and doesn’t. He’s not used to it yet—he isn’t sure he wants to get used to it.

That yearning creates a push-pull in Kurt’s chest, causes him to flick the top off on the extra container of Blaine’s gel just to close it again. It causes him to hang a sweater that Blaine left on the desk yesterday up on his clothing rack, dark blue of it next to a pair of Kurt’s patterned pants. He runs his hand down the sleeve.

He dresses and checks his phone.  _Good morning <3 _the text from Blaine says. The thumb presses a little harder, and Kurt feels it through all of him.

***

The soreness is more than he was expecting—Kurt’s head throbs if he lies at certain angles, his right elbow and hip are still bruised blue-purple even as the cuts on his face have started to fade. What’s worse though—he didn’t feel it in the hospital, but the white-hot blankness inside hasn’t stayed and he finds himself waking up in the night, sweat gathered on the back of his neck and hands curled into fists.

Blaine comes over with styrofoam containers of chicken korma and vegetable biryani for dinner, and they eat on Kurt’s bed with the food and Blaine’s laptop positioned between them, playing reruns of Scandal with the volume low.

The curtain to the room is pulled closed and it feels comfortable here, just the two of them, soft bed and fragrant food. Kurt sets aside his plate and adjusts the pillow behind his back and supporting his head, wincing a little.

"You okay?" Blaine asks, spooning a last bit of rice into his mouth. His gaze flicks to Kurt, soft and tender, his eyelashes long.

"Yeah, just trying to get comfortable," Kurt breathes out. He laughs a little. "Hasn’t really been easy."

Blaine nods and moves the rest of stuff over to the nightstand, and curls further down in the bed, sliding his ankle across so it is hooked over Kurt’s. He lets his hand rest in the middle, just between them, and Kurt feels heat gather behind his eyes at the sight of it.

Kurt slides his hand over, reaching for him, lacing their fingers together. He runs his thumb over the skin of Blaine’s hand, so familiar in that repetitive feeling, an echo of a movement he’s done since he was seventeen years old.

He leans in to kiss Blaine, to feel the curve of his mouth on his. The ache in Kurt’s chest is clean and alive.

***

It’s bright in the loft, full of warm morning sunshine streaming in, and Blaine is standing at the mirror in their bedroom in only his green striped briefs. He’s gelling his hair and Kurt is on the bed, watching his hands.

They squeeze and smooth, and Kurt shivers.

The first few days after Blaine moved back in officially were busy with settling and rearranging, trying to find a new beat of living together, classes to attend and shifts at the diner to get to, that they haven’t actually had this yet with the newness of living together again—a slow lazy morning together.

Kurt catches Blaine’s eye in mirror and Blaine smirks at him, raising his eyebrows, knowing Kurt is looking.

Kurt is wearing only his briefs as well, covered just by the sheet up to his hip, and he feels his body shift just slightly towards Blaine as the low burn of a shivery-arousal starts tugging between them.

Neither of them speak—they just exist in the same space, in their bedroom, in their loft. Kurt wants him and watches him, and he sees Blaine’s comfort in the very line of his spine, the set of his shoulders. Kurt sees his desire too, cock thickening in his briefs.

By the time Blaine pushes him into the mattress, hot skin against his, and kisses him—Kurt’s knees go up and his hips buck, golden light on their bodies—the want is thick-hot and fills Kurt from pelvis to breastbone, every sensitive part of him.


	2. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5x17: “Opening Night”

After losing each other in the crowd for a few songs, Blaine pulls Kurt up onto one of the platforms at the edge of the main dance floor. Kurt can feel the bass of the music through the soles of his shoes—a throb that vibrates his feet where he stands. It’s a bright pulse of a beat that has them moving towards one another, and then back again.

The lights are blue and red on Blaine’s skin. Kurt runs his hand up Blaine’s arm, past his collar, and to his neck, the skin salty-slick there under his fingertips.

They aren’t the only ones up there—there a few others, dancing in their own worlds, and the wave of body-movement pushes Blaine into Kurt—a jostle and a slip, and they grab each other to stay upright, to stay on the platform. It’s precarious for second, Kurt leaning far in a backwards tilt, but Blaine’s hands are there, firm around his waist.  

He exhales. Blaine’s grip goes to his lower back, bringing him even closer.

“We’re all right,” Kurt murmurs.

Blaine leans in, pressing his lips to Kurt’s jaw. “We are.”

Kurt giggles, the adrenaline spike making him giddy, and he feels the round of Blaine’s smiling cheek against his fever-flushed own before Blaine draws back a little, his eyes crinkled, and with the breath of his laugh on Kurt’s face. He shakes his hips a little bit.

Kurt tangles his fingers in the damp hair at the back of Blaine’s head, grinning. “You still want to dance with me like this? Up here?”

“Up here,” Blaine replies without hesitation, his face knowing and sweet.

The dark in the spaces between where the spotlights hit keeps it their secret when Blaine’s hands slide down, resting right at the top of Kurt’s ass. Kurt shoots him a coy look. The club around them is a pulsation of unpinned people and flickering color, vibrant and loud, demanding—but their eyes and hands stay on each other.

They fall instead into the rhythm of the song, together.


	3. Cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5x14: “New New York”

The sunlight patterns across the sidewalk, warming their skin against the chill of the afternoon. They’re holding hands—Kurt’s right laced with Blaine’s left, the white flowers they just bought in Blaine’s other one. The day had started gray and damp, and where they are walking there are still a few dirty puddles of rainwater, not yet dried by the sun.  

Kurt nudges Blaine with his shoulder. “I’m just going to say—that was a little weird.”

Blaine blows out a breath. Kurt doesn’t have to clarify what he means—they had brought over a few loads of Blaine’s things to move in while they were helping Mercedes, and it had filled Kurt with more nervy-tenseness than he had been expecting, all those cardboard boxes with Blaine’s name on them in red ink, filled with bowties and cardigans and his books. There was one that they had packed just that morning, together, and into it went most of Blaine’s grooming supplies—gel and waxing kit and lotions—and his underwear, all these private bits of him that he used, that Kurt knew like no one else.

Kurt made sure that got to Blaine’s new room, and tried to not feel brittle.

“Yeah, a little. I don’t know? I thought it would be weirder, but maybe it hasn’t really sunk in yet. I mean, I do still think—,” Blaine pauses. Kurt can see the slight furrow of his brow, not quite smooth, but the rest of his face is relaxed and his mouth turned up. “This is a good idea, for us.”

“No, I know. You know I agree,” Kurt says, tightening his grasp. “I’m glad we made this choice, but you know—”

“What?”

“You don’t have to move  _all_ your things,” Kurt says. And that was it, really, why the finality of those boxes had turned this  _very mature decision_  into a pit in his stomach, because even when he doesn’t know what he wants, even when part of him wants space, part of him always wants Blaine. So what does that mean, an open door—your fiance’s possessions still where you sleep and a key to yours on his key chain? This is them, Kurt and Blaine who can choose this, who can share keys and plan dinners and sleepovers. Still  _them,_ but maybe different too.

Blaine drops his head and laughs, swinging their clasped hands between them. “I wasn’t planning on it. Need at least a few changes of clothes, just in case.”

“Of course,” Kurt replies, smiling. “Do you want to come back to the loft with me now, help me cook something for the potluck?”

Blaine leans into him, just so their hips brush. “It would be my pleasure.”

A cloud passes overhead, putting them in shadow, before the light rips through again. Kurt turns his face towards it.


	4. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5x20: “The Untitled Rachel Berry Project”

They go back to Blaine’s place after the showcase: the benefits of privacy that comes with the walls and door of his bedroom is something they both need tonight, right now. There is a tremor in Blaine’s hands as he fumbles with his jacket—Kurt can see the tiny shake when he pulls it from his shoulders, when he starts on his bowtie.

Kurt goes to him, taking over, slipping that scrap of black fabric away from Blaine’s neck, popping the buttons at the collar of his shirt. Blaine smiles dazzling-bright and with something like wonder.

"You were incredible tonight," Kurt says to him, as each opened button reveals a little more of Blaine’s skin, and peels away the night. Blaine catches one of his hands and brings to his mouth, pressing it a soft, lingering kiss to the side of Kurt’s palm, cradling it next to his face. "Seeing you up there—"

Blaine breathes in.

Kurt’s heart shudders, for what feels like the tenth time tonight, for what feels like the thousandth time in his life for this man.

"So were you, you were—amazing," Blaine whispers.

Blaine leans in to kiss him then, warm and open-mouthed, tugging on Kurt’s waist to have him closer.

Kurt laughs and pulls free for a moment, to shed his own jacket, at the very least. The turbulence of the night has rocked him, and he doesn’t even know how to get his footing back—the fierceness of what he feels in every synapse and in his marrow. So he does what he wants to do, tonight, in this room: he starts taking off his clothes.

Blaine collapses to sit on the bed, watching him.

Kurt unfastens his pants, and smirks at Blaine, “I thought June was trying to murder me with her eyes for a minute there when we started singing.”

"No, pretty sure that was directed at _me_.”

"Maybe we’ll take joint-ownership over that one." Kurt says, taking off his own tie and shirt, tossing them atop the little dresser in the room. "If you insist."

"It worked out," Blaine replies.

Kurt can hear how pleased and turned-on he is simply from the tone of his voice.

"Yeah, well, we’ll know for sure if she still brings you those baby cakes she likes so much," Kurt says, tone mock-serious and eyes wide. Blaine narrows his eyes at him for a second before laughing, resting back on his elbows.

"They were overrated anyway," Blaine says. Kurt grins at him.

Kurt drops his pants and steps out of them, leaving him only in one of his smallest pairs of briefs. Blaine’s gaze grows dark and Kurt brings one leg up, resting his knee on the bed next to Blaine’s hip.

A pause and a breath—a moment of suspended tension as they look at each other.

Then Blaine sits upright, abruptly, bringing both of his hands to Kurt’s naked thighs—grip firm and heavy as he drags upwards, stopping right where Kurt’s underwear meets his leg. He doesn’t move any further, just stays there, maddening and challenging—hot fingers not quite where Kurt needs them and eyes not leaving Kurt’s face.

Kurt brings his mouth to Blaine’s, straddling him more fully, sitting down a little so he can feel Blaine’s hard cock under his ass and Blaine can feel him.

"I know what I need to complete this night," Kurt whispers. Blaine moans into his mouth, his hands slipped now under the fabric, on the skin of Kurt’s hips, curving around him. "Please?"

Blaine kisses him again.


	5. Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after 5x14: “New New York”

Blaine picks the restaurant for their first date night after he moves out. It’s a tiny, intimate Spanish place—scarred dark wood and white-washed walls, lit only by elegant hanging filament bulbs and glass votives on the tables. They both have dressed up a little—Kurt in one of his favorite waistcoats and a blue-patterned neckerchief, and Blaine in a slim jacket and tie.

It is supposed to be an early dinner because they both have morning classes, and Kurt with a diner shift after that, but they find themselves lingering over glasses of sparkling water with lemon and the paella for two they ordered, the inky night visible through the windows, but inside it’s orange-gold candlelight dancing over their faces.

Their calves are pressed together under the table.

Kurt listens to Blaine talk about his day, hands and eyes expressive and warm, about the song he has to sing in his freshman voice class and a phone call from his mother. Kurt tells him about having lunch with Rachel, and they discuss, together, a theater history assignment from one of their shared classes.

It’s somehow both novel and not for him, having dinner like this with Blaine—it doesn’t feel like high school, when it was sweaty palms at Breadstix and then tongues in each other’s mouths in the dark of Blaine’s car, and it doesn’t feel like how it did when they lived together, when dinners out often meant neither of them wanted to cook or just needed a little time without everyone else before going home.

They haven’t actually discussed yet about whether they are going to be spending the night together and it’s creating an anticipation that has Kurt feeling a little electrified, the very skin of him sensitive with the not-knowing of how this evening is going to end.

He wants to kiss his fiancé.

He touches along the cloth around his neck and sees Blaine’s gaze catch with it, looking at the skin he can’t see, and then when he smiles, it’s his mouth that has it now.

“So we never talked about, on these date nights—” Kurt trails off.

Blaine’s mouth presses in a line of barely-concealed line of amusement. The pressure on Kurt’s leg increases, Blaine’s ankle brushing against his.

Kurt takes a sip of his drink, mouth dry.

Blaine hums, runs a finger along his silver fork on the tabletop, expression softening, “Well, I was thinking—this is a date, so I will pay, and walk you home, of course—”

Kurt leans closer, falling into the words, “And I’ll be wondering if you’ll kiss me good night, and what kind of signal I could send.”

Blaine’s eyes are hot. “And if I do kiss you, well, then I won’t want to go, so—”

“I invite you inside,” Kurt whispers, and he breathes against his sudden awareness of his body, in the buttons against his chest and at his wrists, the tightness of his pants. They look at each other, needful-urgent in a way that makes Kurt’s hands itch with want.

Blaine signals for the check.


	6. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right after 5x15: “Bash”

It’s a soft bed, duvet pushed down to the foot and rumpled sheets under him, and Blaine’s hands are on the button of his pants, then rolling them down his legs. Kurt stretches into the touch and sighs. His body is aching and buzzing at the same time, tender-real in parts and endorphin-rushed from his performance everywhere else.

[ _I’m still here_ ]

He tries to sit up a little, tries to explain he doesn’t know how much he can do, but Blaine just sends him a look, candescent-mysterious with something that Kurt can’t name—and he realizes that maybe in this moment, they both are grasping for something. He just doesn’t know what that is. When he puts his hand to Blaine’s bare shoulder, it is damp with sweat already.

Kurt hooks one leg up over Blaine’s hip, heel slipping on his smooth skin, and then Blaine takes him into his mouth. He covers his face with his hands and cries out, cries out at the wet-hot feel of Blaine, at the tenderness of the press of his tongue, at feeling undone.

Kurt’s back arches and Blaine’s grip on his hip tightens, his touch on Kurt’s body—the body that hurts, is still vulnerable to cracking [ _hairline fracture to your right orbital bone_ ], the one he’s had to claim a fierce ownership over, staring at himself in the mirror and seeing his choice on his face [ _dark red cuts on the pale, but will they scar: no, probably not_ ].

Right now though, he yields.

He grabs the pillow under his head, fingers splaying on the fabric, and he lets his body feel, thrusts his pelvis up—in in in, he’s letting Blaine take him there, and he can’t stop the noises he’s making as Blaine sucks him, saliva on his face and dripping down Kurt’s cock.

It feels something like shock—the blood-alive flush of Kurt’s body, the searing pleasure he feels, and when he looks down, Blaine’s wide eyes meet his. Kurt feels like he’s giving things he didn’t know he needed to, Blaine’s soft hands on him here in the dark, but it’s necessary choice.

[ _still someone said, “she’s sincere” so I’m here_ ]

His body flexes, then unsnaps—the present feeling, the connection of Blaine’s eyes-mouth-heart to Kurt’s body and the coiled insides of him that no one else can touch, it’s too much, so he surrenders: he comes hard into Blaine’s mouth, quiet helpless whines [ _oh god need please Blaine please love you_ ] into the heel of his hand, legs shaking.


	7. Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5x16: “Tested”

Retreating to the bedroom feels like the only thing left to do, rubbed-raw inside and Blaine’s eyes still wet. Kurt pulls the curtain and rubs his palms against his thighs, trying to wipe away the traces of tension holding his hands closed and ground himself, before turning around.

Blaine isn’t looking at him—he’s pulling off his sweater, leaving him bare-armed vulnerable in just his thin t-shirt.

Kurt wraps an arm around himself.

He watches Blaine bring a hand down over the back of his hair, trying to smooth the strands forced out of place, and when he faces Kurt, he attempts a smile, a turn of his mouth and relaxing of his jaw. Kurt’s breath catches, and his heart feels like it is stretching and pushing against his chest-wall—because they scraped against each other all week, because he’s scared that the damage of it is still unclear and fuzzy-shaped to him, because he feels off-balance with the seeing, the hearing—but with all that, he looks at Blaine, and thinks he’s so beautiful, skin golden in low light of the room, eyes soft.

Kurt tugs at the undisturbed cover on the bed, loosening and pulling it, so they can lie down together. It feels fragile between them right now.

But this is their life, and still the bed where they’ve cried and came and laughed. They claim their space here: Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s bicep, Blaine pushes his face to Kurt’s shoulder, and they pause, just for now, just for tonight—they take this.

Kurt can feel from the very touch to Blaine’s muscle, from the feel of his spine as he runs his hand along it—still a line of strained apprehension, breathing careful and measured, deliberate. Kurt doesn’t know what he can say, he doesn’t even know if Blaine wants that to be seen right now, not after—

He presses a kiss to Blaine’s temple.

He tightens his arms. And he waits.

Kurt feels his own smarting and scared heart—he can’t help the seething fright of it, because that’s exactly what it feels like to him, threat and anger and fear and love feeling conflated right now, his face no longer marked, but less in control of his insides than ever before—he doesn’t know what will happen if he lets himself slip either.

He loves this man. That comes with its own reflexes.

Blaine runs one hand across Kurt’s stomach, then grasps the dip of his waist, works a hand under his shirt to bare skin. It isn’t sexual.

But it’s still touch.

They pause.


	8. Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right after 5x19: “Old Dog, New Tricks”

Santana turns on music when they all get back to the loft from the diner, exuberant and laughing and covered in dog hair. It’s a playlist of pop songs with heavy dance beats—Rachel tries to argue for more show tunes, but makes no move to actually change it.

And so it plays on, and the volume gets turned up.

Two bottles of wine are opened. Sam and Artie argue over where they want to order food from, Artie trying to pull up reviews on his phone to prove his point, while the girls pour and sing along in bit and pieces, falling into harmonies and falling out of them. The mismatched textured cups, green stemmed glass and yellow mugs, with generous amount of pale liquid in each are lined up on the kitchen table for the taking.

Rachel runs her hand down Kurt’s arm as she passes him.

Kurt grabs two for him and Blaine, who keeps a hand on the small of his back, close enough that Kurt feels his body warmth through his clothes, can smell his hair product and cologne and his skin. They sip with eyes on each other over the edge of their glasses, fleeting time and packed schedules mean they need to drink with more than their mouths.

They end up in the bathroom, the _thump-thump_ rhythm of the music coming through the door, the cool porcelain corner of the sink digging into Kurt’s hip, and their pants around their knees. It’s ridiculous and everyone probably knows exactly what they are doing.

But Kurt is feverish-pleased and his hand is around Blaine’s cock, and he really doesn’t care.

He strokes up and thrusts into Blaine’s fist and they are kissing sloppy off-center, giggling into each other’s mouths, and accidentally licking teeth.

“Is this because of the Peter Pan costume?” Kurt asks. He curls his fingers into Blaine’s bare hip.

“Well, it was pretty hot,” Blaine says, mouth tipped wicked, and twisting his grip as Kurt whimpers. “But I think maybe it was more the harness.”

“Oh my _god_ , Blaine,” Kurt gasps, laughing—and starts to come, trying to not make noise, Blaine’s kiss wet and open on his neck. He manages to pull up his shirt to avoid coming on it, and tugs Blaine closer, putting his erection against Kurt’s slick belly, and trapping it there with his hand.

Blaine groans and his hips stutter, and he comes too, messy on Kurt’s skin, pressing his grin to Kurt’s cheek.


	9. Imprint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after 5x17: “Opening Night”

By the time they go to see Tina off at Penn Station later that day, the lack of sleep is pressing behind their eyes, the energy that carried them through the last twenty-four hours starting to flag. Kurt is almost tempted to get a cab back to Brooklyn, but in the end it probably isn’t worth it, and they decide to use the money to get something to eat instead.

They choose a little bakery-cafe, ordering sandwiches and cups of coffee, and eating with the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window.  
  
“Last night was so much fun,” Kurt says. He stirs his spoon around in his mug, light glinting off where it catches on the handle. “I’m so happy for Rachel. I knew she could do it.”

Blaine hums and nods. “She was fantastic.”

“It made me think of high school, do you remember? When I asked her permission to sing ‘I’m the Greatest Star’ at my audition?” Kurt laughs a little. “God, when she used to come over, we would sing that song  _all the time_.”

“I remember,” Blaine says, leaning on his hand with tired eyes and a small smile. Kurt smiles back, feeling the mark of the past, the strange echo-call of what it feels like to know someone for so long. When things keep shifting, but still Kurt’s heart will never forget the exact tilt of Blaine’s head in another coffee shop, right before that thrilling first confession of love.

Kurt touches the metal of his engagement ring, solid on his finger, and feels it in his chest.

They don’t actually talk about high school that often anymore, too much _right-now_  to focus on, and a future that feels so close. The hot-sharp spike of wanting that came with his dreams then isn’t so different from how he still feels, and sometimes he’s not sure how to get that feeling in his chest into something he can touch, what the shape of that is.

“All those dreams we had back in Lima, about coming to New York, I’m just—glad she got this one,” Kurt says.

Their server comes by and drops off the warm chocolate croissant Kurt has ordered. He rips off a piece and puts it in his mouth, bits of it flaking off onto his fingers.

Blaine watches him, and rubs his knuckles against the edge of the plate. “You know, Kurt, that it will happen for you too. You’re doing great here, and at school. You’re amazing.”

Kurt nods. “Yes, well, thank you. I mean, NYADA is my focus right now, still. Everything else, I guess I’ll know it when I see it?”

Kurt hesitates, the shadowy impression of their last conflict still at their edges, in this conversation before Kurt even realizes. It sits prickly at the center of him.

And so he asks.

“And you?”

Blaine looks out the window for a moment, his hand freezing its movement. Kurt knows that things have been better lately, Blaine conquered some skills in combat class that he’d been struggling with, and that helped. And Kurt feels less edgy, has relaxed his routines a bit. They’ve been rehearsing for their classes together. It’s been coming a little easier, when it can.

"I think I’m doing all right? School feels okay," Blaine replies.

"No, I mean, yes. But really I meant  _you_ , as in I know it is going to happen for you too. For both of us, as a team.” Kurt holds out his hand. Blaine takes it, as always.

_"Have you guessed yet? Who’s the best yet?"_

Kurt sings the lyrics softly, and Blaine laughs, eyes wide and warm. It makes Kurt feel better, to see that release visible in the lines of Blaine’s face when he smiles, to sing those lines for himself and to Blaine, to remember, maybe.

"I love you," Blaine says.

"I love you too," Kurt replies, taking another bite of the pastry. This time, when Kurt pushes the plate towards him, Blaine takes a piece too.

***   
They stop over at Blaine’s place afterwards and decide to nap, stripping down to their underwear, and crawling under the blanket. He puts an arm around Blaine, pulling him in, legs tucked right up against each other. Right before he falls asleep, Kurt feels the press of Blaine’s lips to his cheek, a soft-wet imprint on his skin.


	10. Jukebox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x14: “New New York”

There’s rain on the windows of the diner, refracting the bright yellow and red lights outside into constellations on the glass. It’s nearly ten o’clock and Kurt is working an evening shift, with still another hour before he gets done. At a little table in the corner, dark head bent over a textbook, is Blaine—rain coat thrown over one of the chairs, curl of steam coming from the mug of tea in front of him.

He does this sometimes now, when Kurt has to work late, and Blaine has no other plans for the evening. He’ll bring his schoolwork and order tea and a slice of pie, or a salad if he hasn’t eaten dinner yet. Kurt will turn his tables, one after another—taking orders, running food, pouring coffee—but he’ll feel the gravity of Blaine, and look up to see soft eyes watching him, smiles exchanged across the stretch of laminate counter and vinyl booths.

Tonight, the diner is almost empty with the late hour and the weather.

Blaine gets up and puts a few coins in the jukebox, picking out a couple of old standards for the quiet of night, the soft-swift percussion of the rainfall outside in the background.

He does a spin across the floor on the way back to his table, and he grins at Kurt when he does, singing along to the notes in the air.

On Kurt’s break, he goes to sit with Blaine, stealing bites of his mostly-eaten coconut cream pie.

"Will you sing with me?" Blaine asks, and Kurt says  _yes_.

Blaine sits at the piano and they can’t pick a song, but he strings together a handful of recent pop hits. Kurt stands with a hand on the black of the piano, and they play through a few verses, trading lines and feeling out the choruses together. The few customers, an old man sitting alone and a tired-looking tourist family and another young couple, the girl’s hair deep-dyed vibrant purple, clap for them as they take their bows.

Afterwards, Kurt sits at the counter going through his tickets to close out his shift and Blaine packs up his things, and when Kurt clocks out, Blaine helps him into his coat to brave the wet-cold of the night.

They take the L train back to Bushwick with their thighs pressed together, and Blaine’s thumb stroking gently along Kurt’s wrist.

And back at the loft, Blaine slips the buttons on Kurt’s uniform shirt open, one by one, and bends him over the bed, fingers tracing hot down the line of his spine, the rain still hitting the roof above them.


	11. Kindred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x16: “Tested”

Their footsteps fall soft and easy on the jogging path—not pushing, just enough so their breath comes a little heavier and sweat gathers under their arms and along their necks. It’s Saturday morning and there’s no where else for them to be so they have made the trip to Prospect Park for their run, cool clear air and green all around.

It feels good to Kurt, to hear the long draws of his breath through his lungs, in through his nose and down, passing the oxygen into his vessels, and back out again— _inhale, exhale_ —and hearing Blaine’s breath do the same beside him. Especially after a dark alley and hospital bed, after cold hard ground, to feel the vital blood of him, that comes with running or singing or fucking, is something he needs.

Blaine catches his eye and nods his head towards a patch of grass, where the sun is hitting, and they veer off towards it, slowing their pace to a walk and then stretching in the warmth.

They don’t speak for a moment, and Kurt watches the strength of Blaine’s legs in his shorts, feels the twitches in his own muscles.

"Thank you," Kurt says, breaking the silence. "For coming with me."

Blaine straightens from where he’s bent over. He looks at Kurt for a second, before smiling a little, raising his arms above his head to stretch his back. “Of course.”

It’s simple and sweet but a few weeks ago, Kurt knows it wouldn’t have been, sharing something like this, the simple connection of breathing together, matching their strides, and the beat of it. Both of them in retreat in their own ways, bruised. The sting of it pressing into them, into their relationship, and the frightening questions of  _do you really think of me like that_  and  _do you not see_ and  _what does this mean_.

"You want to go a little farther?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah, let’s not go back yet," Kurt says.

But sometimes it means parallel steps, and the speed-up and slow-down of reading your partner in motion, of looking at his body sweaty and red-faced and in the sun with admiration in your eyes, of staring at that little sliver of golden skin between his waistband and tank top. Seeing him enjoy this again. Breath-blood-pulse connection.

_Inhale, exhale._


	12. Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x16: “Tested” and 5x18: “The Back-up Plan”

Kurt drags the edge of the blanket into his hand, curling his fingers, and pushing his fist into the bed as Blaine’s hand slides along his hip—pulling Kurt closer and thrusting in again.

"Oh god,  _Kurt_ —”

Kurt moans in response, hand twisting again. He lets his knees slip further apart, lets Blaine deeper, closer.

They are in Kurt’s bed, the loft still and dark besides the low lamp lit next to the bed, besides the harsh scrape of their breathing and the sound of Blaine fucking him. Kurt’s eyes are closed and his mouth open—and it’s good, so _good_.

There’s an arcing tension in all of him, the sparking pressure of it—his back stretches, and the head of his hard cock just rubs against the bed with every press of Blaine’s hips against his ass, of Blaine’s damp chest against his back.

Blaine’s blunt nails draw up his side, he cups Kurt’s shoulder, and holds him, holds him there, and Kurt turns his head to kiss his fingers as best he can.

Blaine lets him, runs the tips of his fingers across Kurt’s lips, catching on the tender inside of the lower one.

Kurt opens his eyes and can see their bodies in the mirror next to the bed. He can smell Blaine everywhere, the smell of his sweat and breath, the panting pulse of him, the fundamental parts, so familiar and so so dear and it’s everything Kurt needs right now, the way their bodies can express this, especially lately. It feels simple and so complicated sometimes, how he needs, how much the curve of Blaine’s body covering his feels like breathing.

It’s grasping fingers that always reach for Blaine. When they were younger he understood it even less and it scared him even more, these parts of him that he had to give, the way Blaine gives. It was that first quiet time, fumbling touches and fever-hot bravado of their choice, of making Blaine come, sweaty and whimpering, the wonder of his naked skin on that bed. The first time he came with Blaine, he had to turn his face away, until Blaine pulled him in for a kiss, and then another and another.

It was that last time before he left for New York, clinging to each other, kissing sloppy and open-mouthed, sucking each other’s lips and cocks, and pretending they weren’t going to cry. It was a messy and desperate session in a hotel room, Kurt riding Blaine as he held tight onto Kurt’s thighs, marks there the next day, and Kurt coming all over Blaine’s belly, both of them laughing.

It was a giddy reunion when they finally had each other back, Kurt fucking Blaine that time, bleary and bliss-glazed, and they said each other’s names again and again.

It was holding tight in grief when he came home for Finn’s funeral, when it was all Kurt could do, when he could hardly be touched otherwise, just let himself be surrounded by Blaine and not even hiding the tears down their faces.

It was another first time right here, when he finally had Blaine in this bed, and a ring on his finger and fucking felt like possibility and Kurt actually _screamed_ when he came.

And now—Kurt watches them, Blaine panting against his skin, their bodies and their movements different from all those times, but holding the consequence of them close, in how they have become them, in how they are still becoming something, somehow. And Kurt feels so much love for Blaine and feels his pleasure as he speeds up, shaking with it. Kurt whines with every thrust, Blaine’s cock keeping him cracked-open, rubbing against his rim.

When Blaine reaches for Kurt’s cock, his hands grapple along the bunched up covers, and he cries out, Blaine whispering, “yeah, there you go, yes  _yes_ ,” as Kurt comes hard, and Blaine’s hips lose their rhythm, grinding deep, as he comes too, deep-choked groans.

***

Blaine is asleep next to Kurt, exhausted from a full day of classes and then another charity dinner party with June so that when he got back to the loft it was all he could do to brush his teeth and undress down to his briefs before falling asleep.

Kurt can’t sleep and he doesn’t really know why, feeling restless and bottled-up, and nearly shaky with it. He runs through some frustrating choreography for one of his classes in his head, a combination that he’s been struggling with, and it doesn’t help. Over-and-over again, stepping in the same wrong-place in his brain even when he tells himself not to, getting nowhere.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He gets up and grabs his laptop and ear buds, plugging them in, and pulling up an episode of  _Long Island Medium_ back in bed. He doesn’t know why he watches it, he doesn’t  _believe_ , not really, but something in that bone-deep desire of the things that people still need, still search for, when the people they love can’t be there anymore, appeals to him. He doesn’t think of his mom. He doesn’t think of Finn. He doesn’t think of anything at all.

His tears are falling by the fifteen minute mark.

Blaine stirs next to him, and his eyes blink open. He adjusts himself so he can see what’s on the screen, looks up at Kurt, his face going knowing-soft when he does. Kurt wipes his eyes, gives a wobbly smile. Blaine just rolls closer and kisses Kurt’s forearm, the comforting warmth of his body all along him.

Kurt puts his palm flat to Blaine’s bare back, and breathes.

 


	13. Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x14: “New New York”

They get invited to a party in Williamsburg by a NYADA classmate—a girl in one of their shared classes named Auden, a redhead with a pixie cut and a bluesy alto, that Blaine has become casual friends with. It’s already after nine when they get there, a little fourth floor walk-up apartment with warm coffee-colored walls and low lights, and packed with people Kurt at least vaguely recognizes from school.

Drinks in hand, they make a circuit around the best they can. Kurt chats with one of the theater tech majors he knows from the Apples that he hasn’t spoken to since last semester, and Blaine gets pulled into conversation with a couple of girls from one of his freshman classes. Kurt smiles into his drink when he sees how often one of them touches Blaine’s arm as they speak.

They make sure to give Auden hugs and kisses when they finally run across her in the corner where a mic is set up and a couple of guys are playing guitar, she and a blonde with thick-framed black glasses start singing a jazzy duet, hardly taking their eyes off each other at the song starts to build.

The vodka in the drink Kurt has is making him feel elastic-loose and talkative, and although they don’t get out very often with their busy schedules, it’s been a discovery that came with the thousand little tectonic shifts that happened when Blaine moved to New York—parties and dancing at clubs, the gossipy and affectionate and ridiculous NYADA social scene, experiencing these things with Blaine next to him.

They orbit each other for awhile, the music getting louder and the crowd getting closer, people starting to dance in the space where the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room. Kurt sips and listens to Sophia-from-film-class ( _not_  Sophia-from-movement-class) talk about her recent nightmare open-call audition and admires the curve of Blaine’s ass in his tight jeans when he glimpses him in the part of people.

He looks up just in time to catch Blaine’s eye, the stare he gets curling Kurt’s toes in his boots. And then it’s the irresistible call-and-response of each other that brings Blaine across the room, brings his hand low on Kurt’s hip.

“Want to get some air with me?” Blaine murmurs soft, nodding his head to the open window and empty fire escape.

The night air is crisp and the little bit of sweat that has been gathering on the back of Kurt’s neck dries instantly. There, pressed to the side and out of view from inside, Blaine slips an arm around Kurt’s waist and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Kurt curls his hands around Blaine’s upper arms, smelling his cologne and the sweet-sharp of the alcohol on his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Blaine replies, working his fingers as best he can into the space between Kurt’s pants and the waistband of his briefs, a little bit closer. “I missed you.”

Kurt shivers.

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt whispers, biting his lip as Blaine runs his tongue down the line of his neck.

A car below them honks its horn, and the night is alive-bright in Kurt’s veins, his heart pounding. He’s a little drunk and has Blaine close and he feels the moments stacking up, one right after another, and he holds on tighter—a midnight vital, with light and city sounds and chatter, and still a secret that is just theirs, just their life.

“C’mon, let’s go back inside,” Blaine pulls back, smile expressive and eyes laughing. “I want to dance with you. It’s still so early.”

Kurt tangles their fingers together, and follows.


	14. Needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x15: “Bash”

Kurt has one more follow-up x-ray a few weeks later, to check the progress of his fracture and make sure it has healed correctly. Blaine goes with him and when Kurt’s name gets called, he reaches over and squeezes Blaine’s wrist. He can feel the pulse thumping under his skin.

“Come back with me?”

Blaine nods.

They get taken to a room, pale blue paint and sterile-smelling, with a radiation safety poster on the door and a needle-disposal container on the counter by the sink. Kurt answers a few questions. No, he doesn’t feel any pain. No blurry vision. No headaches. No, he hasn’t noticed anything. He smoothes his pants over his thighs, fingers tight. No. None.

Blaine sits, still and watching, in the corner.

The technologist asks if Baine would like to step out while she actually does the x-rays, but he says he would prefer to stay. She hands him a lead apron to put on, and slides another onto Kurt’s back.

Kurt puts his face to the image receptor, tries to not tense up too much, tries to not jump when she comes close. She puts both hands on his head, gently on either side, and rotates until he is at the angle she wants. One eye closed against the cool-antiseptic plastic, one eye open, just barely seeing Blaine in his chair.

Kurt can’t stop looking at the bright plaid of Blaine’s shirt revealed by scoop-neck of the gray apron: the top few buttons, the red of his bowtie.

"Don’t move," she says. "Hold your breath."

Kurt does.

Footsteps and a beep.

“ _Breathe_.”

He meets Blaine’s gaze. Blaine breathes out at the same time.

***

They wander in the weak afternoon sun after they get out, the weather marginally warmer than it has been lately, neither of them feeling like dealing with the train just yet.

"So we’ll know for sure in a couple days?" Blaine asks, threading his arm through Kurt’s.

"Yeah, whenever they send to the report to the doctor. Then we’ll know," Kurt pauses. "I think I’m glad, that this part is almost over."

Blaine smiles at him, “I can understand that.”

And Kurt isn’t sure, really, if  _over_  means anything here but maybe it does, to at least not have any more appointments or questions or pictures of his eye-socket. That this becomes just one more piece of him going forward.

He’s tired.

"And I mean—I still know why I made my choice, why I needed to. There are things about that night I barely  _remember_ but I do know that.” His hand clenches. Reminding himself of that makes everything else a little easier, everything else he feels, everything he doesn’t  _know_.

Blaine is quiet for a moment beside him, before breathing out a soft laugh. “I think being done with doctors’ offices for a little while will be nice. It didn’t really get easier.”

Kurt nods. He pulls Blaine a little closer, hears it in his voice. “No, not really.”

He stops them at the next turn, right up against a building. He quickly presses his lips to Blaine’s. “I love you. Thank you.”

Blaine cups his cheek, runs a finger over Kurt’s right eyebrow, and then down by the corner of his eye. Kurt lets him.

"I love you too."


	15. Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5x18: “The Back-up Plan”

It is late—very late—when Kurt hears the door to the loft slide open. His heartbeat picks up at the sound of Blaine’s dress shoes across the wood floor, and he closes his laptop and sets it aside on the nightstand as Blaine’s fingers come into view first, hooked around the edge of the curtain, slowly pulling it aside, before his face is there.

“You’re still awake,” Blaine says, his voice a surprised-breathless susurration in the quiet. They look at each other for a beat across the room, Kurt from his position sitting in bed, and Blaine still in the gap he’s made in the curtain.

Kurt can’t stop his smile, holds out his hand. “Well?”

Blaine slips into the room, a little flushed, suit a little more rumpled than it did when he left. “It was  _amazing_.”

Kurt kneels up on the bed. His chest still has that little cramp in it that he’s been feeling all night, a blunt questioning want that lives inside of him, but Blaine is gleaming vivid and well, sometimes there are other things he wants too. Like this look on Blaine’s face, this night for him, this opportunity.

“Yeah?” he asks, and Blaine’s smile widens. He comes closer.

"Oh my god, I met so many people. And I sang with June; she introduced me to  _everyone_. She—she wants to have lunch tomorrow.” Blaine’s gaze meets his. “You would have loved it.”

“I’m glad  _you_  loved it,” Kurt says.

Blaine stands there at the side of the bed, and Kurt bends towards him, his body feeling like it is stretching towards the light, towards the intensity in Blaine’s face, the messy and put-together of a night out and then back home, back to Kurt—and Blaine hands come up, tight around Kurt’s waist.

It’s a phantom-image in Kurt’s brain—of the two of them, of a thousand evenings just like this one, Kurt waiting up late in his jeans for Blaine to come home, and opening his palms against the fabric of Blaine’s suit jacket, crisp under his fingers. Or maybe the opposite, and having his own jacket taken off of him by Blaine in just his briefs, being unbuttoned, unlaced, unpeeled by him. Or both at the same time.

It makes his breathing come faster—their future, Blaine’s hands on his body, the hunger for all of it.

Blaine’s hand slips down around his back, and then lower, until he is grasping at Kurt’s ass with one hand, hot-steady look in his eyes, and starts pulling at the buttons on Kurt’s shirt, slowly, methodically with the other, letting his fingers just brush Kurt’s bare chest with every one. Down, down,  _down_  until Kurt is straining against his fly and leaning into the pressure of Blaine’s hand on him.

Blaine rubs the stubbly-hair on Kurt’s lower belly. “I had kind of a fantasy, while I was there.”

Kurt shivers.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" He can’t help the shake in his voice, can’t seem to catch the vowels and consonants as they slip past his lips.

Blaine’s stare is heavy, catching Kurt. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just tugs Kurt’s shirt completely off before bringing his hands back to Kurt’s chest. His jacket sleeves have been pushed back a little, and Kurt can feel the cool enamel and silver of his cuff links against his ribs.

"About the night? Or the fantasy?" Blaine whispers.

"Either?" Kurt exhales. "Both."

Blaine reaches around his body, one hand to Kurt’s spine, dragging along it. He presses a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"I imagined you there with me, at an event like that." Blaine’s mouth quirks. "You would be wearing a suit, Westwood, I think."

His teeth open onto Kurt’s collarbone, biting down gently, and Kurt’s fingers crunch in the gelled strands at the back of Blaine’s head.

"Oh, I—I approve," he says, shaking.

Blaine makes a noise. “I thought you might.” He pauses and presses his hips forward, and Kurt can feel him hard as stone in his suit trousers. “Maybe we would be here in New York. Or maybe not. Maybe London?”

"Paris?" Kurt asks.

Blaine hums. “If you want.”

Kurt touches what skin he can—the side of Blaine’s neck, the line of his jaw. He pulls at the bowtie around his neck, feeling the groan vibrate in his throat. He brings his mouth to Blaine’s, tastes his saliva-slick lips, licking at his bottom one.

"Right now, I want—" Blaine says and his hand lands on Kurt’s cock through his jeans, a hard stroke, and Kurt’s whole body jerks in Blaine’s arms.

"Oh god," he murmurs.

Blaine flicks the button open and zipper down, the edge of his cuffs tickling Kurt’s pelvis, along the line of his hips.

"At one point, I had money in my hands—donations—and after, I thought about your hands too." Blaine tugs down Kurt’s jeans and boxer-briefs in one sudden movement, down his thighs to his knees. "Your hand around a microphone, or a glass of champagne, my ring on your finger."

Kurt can feel the harsh scrape of Blaine’s breathing as he presses forward, forward, forward into Kurt’s body. Blaine’s touch is insistent and needing, in a way that Kurt can feel in the very curve of him, in the way his eyes never leave Kurt’s body, fever-bright.

Kurt’s hands are grasping, tugging Blaine’s shirt from his pants, pulling on him, trying to reach for his erection. But Blaine draws back and reaches for the nightstand from where he stands, grabbing the lube.

Kurt’s nails graze down his sleeves, but Blaine just looks at him, runs his fingers down the length of his bare cock. “Turn around.”

Kurt tries to bring a hand down to try to take his pants the rest the way off but Blaine stops him, kisses him again. “Please—just turn around.”

Kurt swallows. His pulse hammers but he believes in this, whatever this is, whatever Blaine needs from him in this moment. He turns slowly, and Blaine’s hands curl around his shoulders, and Kurt can’t stop it, he drops to his elbows. He moans when they hit the bed.

He can hardly move anymore than this, his legs stopped from spreading by the constriction of his tight jeans around his knees. He’s nearly naked and Blaine still in his disheveled suit, standing behind him, hands on Kurt’s ass, massaging his cheeks.

"I thought about how it would be our night,” Blaine’s thumb is slick when it rubs at Kurt’s rim. “I would introduce you to sing—”

Kurt whimpers in the duvet. “What did you sing?”

Blaine’s thumb doesn’t stop its rough, rhythmic movement against Kurt and his legs tremble with it. “What?”

"Tonight, I mean, what did you sing?" Kurt’s voice is so high, too high to his own ears.

"Piece of My Heart."

Kurt can hear the smile in his voice, and Kurt can feel in his chest the way he always feels when Blaine sings, giving and magnetic at the same time, almost as if he was there. And Blaine slips a finger in.

"Oh my god—" Kurt groans. "I—oh—"

Blaine’s hand rubs soothingly at the small of Kurt’s back, while his one finger, and then another, fucks harder.

"I could introduce you to sing," Kurt gasps out. "On that other night."

"Yes," Blaine whispers. "Yes, maybe you would."

Blaine’s fingers tease and press against Kurt’s hole now, and the fabric of his jacket keeps sliding against the sensitive skin of Kurt’s cheeks, over and over again. Kurt’s legs try to kick out, to move, to relieve some of the pressure but he  _can’t_ —

"I can imagine that," and Blaine’s voice is so low. "And the party would go on until late, the people there for  _us_ , the music—”

Kurt hears Blaine’s pants being undone and before he can even breathe, Blaine pushes in, hard lubed cock thrusting quick and so so hot.

"Oh fuck," Kurt whimpers and Blaine’s hands are pulling at his crack, and he’s groaning so loud and long as he retreats and then in again.

"And you would look so gorgeous, from it, I can see it, Kurt— _please_ ,” Blaine says, hips against Kurt’s ass and Kurt feels the buckle of his belt, the open zipper, the seams of his pants as they hit with every thrust. And Kurt can hear desperation in his voice, in his greedy grab, in Blaine’s own want and hunger for this, for  _everything_.

Kurt laughs through his moans. “And then I would take you to the bathroom and blow you there, on my knees in my Westwood suit.”

He can hear Blaine swear and he hooks his hands around Kurt’s hips, bringing him back with force, onto his cock, making it press to Kurt’s prostate. And Kurt can do nothing but cling to the bed, to try to muffle his cries in his forearm.

"We’d go back out and no one would know, they’d never think, and we’d toast and sing a duet," Blaine says.

"Blaine, Blaine,  _Blaine_ —” Kurt breathes out, and he lets himself feel this, the pleasure so acute-real from Blaine’s cock in him, shoving and holding at the same time, and what they can make together, believe together.

"Please Kurt, I want that, do you—do you want that?" And there is a vulnerable, shaken-apart sound to Blaine’s voice, and he fucks into Kurt, fierce with it. As if he has to.

"Yes, _yes_ ,” Kurt moans and Blaine is slamming into him, his clothed body over Kurt’s naked one, his expensive suit becoming sweat-damp and rough against Kurt’s skin, rubbing raw with the drag of it, shocking hard clips of bits of metal and and Kurt needs to feel his bare skin, has to. He reaches a hand around to his back, leaning all his weight on one arm now, and tries to touch Blaine’s hand.

Blaine tangles their fingers together.

"I  _need_  you, please—” the words are out, the truth of them stark to Kurt as he gasps them out. And Blaine calls out his name and his hips grind deep, and Kurt knows he’s coming, hand still clutching Kurt’s.

Blaine closes his legs around Kurt’s calves, keeping him in place even more, not letting him move, and he’s panting as his hand goes to Kurt’s cock, fast hard strokes that leave him whining and coming wet into Blaine’s hand, overwhelmed and grateful, for everything he wants.


End file.
